-Martin Luther King, Jr.
My Dearest Friends and Family,
I have heard much outrage, fear, sorrow, grief, and an outpouring of love after the recent massacre in Orlando, Florida. The thing that I've noticed is that it is almost entirely from my fellow Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual, Transgender, And Queer brothers and sisters - those who have felt this as deeply as I have, and do not doubt that I have felt this all the way from Seattle. It's not about the distance, because the distance between me and a 20-something Latino fag is the space between two heartbeats.
You see, I am that little Latino fag. I always have been. I always will be.
When the internet went tricolore for Paris, and you jumped on that in support, I supported you. I'm not French, but some of my very good friends are.
When the epicenter of violence was Brussels, I too posted "Je suis Bruxelles", just as you did. None of us are Belgian. Well, I know two (possibly) Belgians, but...
You see where I'm going with this?
Paris lit up in rainbows for Orlando. So did Nashville, Seattle, Montreal, and a host of other cities worldwide. Crowds gathered in Soho, NYC, Boston, San Francisco, and many others.
But you, my friends and family? I saw posts about Islamophobia. In support of Trump. Banning immigrants. How a "good guy with a gun" could have stopped this. How Wounded Knee was a larger "mass shooting", and I should have some perspective.
Really? Fucking hell. Perspective? You want perspective? Here's some.
I'm a member of the community targeted in Orlando. One of MY sanctuaries was violated. "A bar isn't a sanctuary..." It is if you've ever been afraid to hold the hand of your sweetie when walking down the street. It is when just EXISTING in public makes you a target for slurs, beer bottles, when people feel that it's perfectly alright to slow down and drive next to you WALKING DOWN THE FUCKING SIDEWALK, calling you names, telling you to suck their dick, you really want to, don't you, you fucking faggot - then throw rocks at your head as they drive off, and you can't get the license number to tell the cops because of the blood in your eyes and the adrenaline in your blood. When you do call the cops, they may ask you what you were doing, or why you were alone at that time of night, or in that neighborhood, and they can't help you anyway. Which sucks.
I love you. Really, I do, or I wouldn't bother speaking up and letting you know when you're not holding up your end of this relationship.
I need you right now. So does every other LGBTQ+ person you know. Because each time you tell us we matter, it makes it bearable when the next 10 people tell us otherwise. It makes us that much stronger the next time someone calls us "faggot", "dyke", "fairy", "sweet", "maricon", "lesbo", and a whole lot worse (and trust, it gets a whole lot worse).
When you publicly tell us that we matter, it lets others know as well - and when we aren't invisible, when we aren't pushed aside or demonized in our society, when we are valued, then the assholes who think they can get away with abusing us will think twice before they unleash that vitriol.
When you defend me, I don't have to stand alone to defend myself. When you toss me that line, I am less likely to drown in that sea of hate.
Think on that, for a bit. Then let me know that you love me as well. In person. In public. But do not remain silent. I am hurting. So, so much.
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